Growing Up Is Optional
by Marla Fair
Summary: Another short written for Boomers' Fan Fic Fun. Based on the cover photo. Little Joe learns that maybe its better to look before he leaps.


Growing Up Is Optional

ooooooooooooooooooooo

He was at a time in his life when sitting down wasn't easy. It meant someone wanted him to stop. Whether it was to eat, to play a game, to listen to his brother strum his guitar, or to get dressed down by his pa, he just knew whenever he heard the words – 'Sit down, Little Joe ' – he just wasn't going to like the words that followed.

Joe pulled the well-worn chair out from under the gaming table and dropped into it with a sigh. "What is it now?" he whined as he looked at Adam.

Older brother dropped his left shoulder and leaned in, looking up at him from under the brim of his black hat.

"Joe, there's something I feel needs to be said."

Then he didn't say it.

Impatient, Joe crossed his arms in front of him. "Well, let's hear it then!"

Adam frowned. "It's not that easy. After what happened yesterday I felt I had to talk to you."

What happened yesterday. God, would he never let him forget it?

"Look, Adam. I know you don't agree with the call I made, but it was mine to make. If it was a mistake, I'll take the heat."

"That's just it, Joe. About that argument we had..." Older brother paused. "I think its time you grew up –"

He couldn't believe his ears.

Joe exploded.

Jumping to his feet, the curly-haired man planted his hands on the surface of the table, his fingernails digging into it and peeling back a layer of tobacco and whiskey grit. "Time I _grew up_? Well, older brother, I would have done that a _long_ time ago if anyone would have let me! You and Pa are the worst! The pair of you hang around, checkin' up on me like you did yesterday, like I'm a kid who still needs his hand held when he crosses the street!" He slammed that hand down. "I tell you, I've had it! No more! I'll go collect my wages and go somewhere where I'll be appreciated for being Joe and _no_ Cartwright!"

He was breathing fire.

Adam looked burned.

"Joe, what I meant to say was – "

"I don't care what you meant. It's over!"

And with that Joe turned tail and walked straight out of the batwing doors – running into Abigail Jones and knocking her over in the process. Miss Jones fell down and her hands went up, loosing the dozen papers she had been carrying.

The strong wind that was driving dust devils down the street decided to distribute them to the next county.

"Oh, no!" Miss Jones wailed. "My papers! My _important_ papers!" She glared at him and if he'd been _half_ the man he was, he would have high-tailed it after those important papers into that county. "Joseph Francis Cartwright! You –"

Joe tipped his hat. "I'll get your papers, Miss Jones. Don't you worry!"

As Joe stepped off the boardwalk and reached for the closest paper the wind gusted, catching it and driving it across the street toward the jail. Just as he thought he had it, the door to the jail was thrown open and Roy Coffee emerged with a prisoner. That would have been well and good if the prisoner hadn't seen him and decided to make a try for his gun. Joe saw it coming a second before it happened. He dropped, rolled, and came up with pistol in hand – facing the wrong direction.

Miss Jones amazed him.

She did a better drop and roll than he did.

As he bent over in the middle of the street to help her up, Roy Coffee yelled something. Figuring it was for the prisoner's ears and not his, he ignored it – until he heard the rattle of wagon wheels and another shout, this time coming from the driver, yelling at him to get out of the way.

Faster than thought, Joe scooped up Miss Jones and rolled with her over the dusty street until they came to a dead stop against the boardwalk in front of the saloon. For a moment he lay there panting.

Until he realized just _where_ he was laying.

Which was on _top_ of Miss Jones.

The school marm had a funny look on her face, like maybe him straddling her wasn't such a bad thing.

"If only you were Adam..." she sighed.

And then she hit him over the head with her parasol and left him lying in the street eating dust.

"You okay?" a concerned voice asked a few moments later.

Joe lifted a hand and waved it. "Fine. Just fine."

"Glad to hear it," the wagon driver said – and then he kicked him in the side. "Damn fool boy! You wrecked my wagon and you're going to pay for it!"

Joe frowned. He couldn't pay for anything. He'd spent his last dime at the saloon.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Several hours later Joseph Francis Cartwright, after tracking down all but one of Miss Jones' dozen _important_ papers – they were advertisements for the end of the school year pageant – and running down every can, bottle, and box that had been in the merchant's wagon, sat on the edge of the boardwalk with his head in his hands. He'd just let out a sigh when a shadow overcame him, blocking out the remainder of the light.

Joe moaned.

No... God had to hate him.

"Joe?"

With a sigh, he looked up. "Older brother."

"It seems you've had an...interesting afternoon."

"You could say that. Look., Adam, I guess maybe I shouldn't have gone off half-cocked. Maybe," he sighed, "maybe I just proved I _do_ need to grow up."

Adam was shaking his head.

That made him mad.

Damn it!

" _What?"_

"You didn't let me finish, Joe. I was going to say, "I think it's time you grew up and we stopped calling you 'Little' Joe."

Joe's mouth formed a round 'O'.

Adam snorted as he held out his hand.

"Guess I was wrong."


End file.
